But I don’t care for their attitude to waste disposal. The towns I had been to were all unspeakably filthy. Rubbish was just dumped anywhere. Where there was a waterway, garbage was thrown over the edging wall to line the bank several feet from the water, and every now and then rain would wash it down into the river.
Leaving the Queen’s Park it was another hour’s ride in a taxi to the bus station. It was enormous the size of a small town. We drove up and down lanes, the driver asking directions now and then, before we reached the bus company office, where I sat down to wait with several other passengers.
I was on my way to Taungoo, north of Yangon on the road that eventually goes to Mandalay, in Burma’s flat central area where large amounts of rice are grown. Bago had been temporarily postponed.
Burma Map Google Earth Photo Gallery
It was a great bus and the road we travelled was good, but I was told that it became very bad further north. Although Burma now has fifty two million people, the countryside did not look densely populated. There had been a mere five million at the time the British achieved control of the country, but they had encouraged large numbers of Indian and Chinese migrants.
It took four hours to reach Taungoo and when we arrived I had no problem knowing that I was at the right place. Everyone got off the bus with their baggage so I presumed the ride was over.
As a welcome it immediately began to rain. I hired two trishaws, one for me and one for the bag, and we pedalled off. It then rained some more, and then even more. I got soaked despite my umbrella. The journey felt as though it went on forever down the long main road that led out of town, off onto a rutted water-logged mud track, and finally along a tiny rustic tree-shaded lane, at the end of which I came to a well-hidden little gem the Beauty Rest Guesthouse.